Silent Blood on the Bayou Waters
by darksupernatural
Summary: John,Dean,and Sam are hunting something that is killing people. Things get bad for one of them. Challenge issued by Blue Peanut M&M. Teen-chester, Impala Abuse, Freaked out Winchesters, Hurt,sick Sammy. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! First ever wee-chester fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here's that challenge that I mentioned I was working on. Blue Peanut, you've definitely taken me out of my comfort zone with this one but it was fun. I do hope it doesn't disappoint. **

**Sammygirl1963: Owe you big. 1Pagan3 and I were talking and she asked me what this one was called. I'm like "OH CRAP!" Thanks for helping me come up with the perfect name for this one.**

**To everyone else: Enjoy……**

**Silent Blood on the Bayou Waters**

**Chapter 1**

John Winchester was sitting at the chipped kitchen table on a worn and wobbly chair in his family's newest temporary home, a rundown house he was renting in Louisiana, near the Bayou. Papers scattered in front of him, he rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and glanced at all that remained of his once happy life, his two boys.

Dean, at eighteen, had embraced what life had dealt him and applied himself to the hunt full time after managing to graduate from high school that summer. It was now October. John watched Dean break down and clean the shotgun they'd used on the last hunt. He caught every gunpowder smudge, efficiently, like a pro. John smiled wistfully as he watched Dean put the gun back together in less than a minute from start to finish, and pick up the pearl handled Colt that was his favorite gun, a graduation present from Bobby. _I wish you didn't have to live this life, Dean._

His eyes slid to his youngest, fourteen year old Sam. His baby boy. His heart swelled with pride and then wrenched with disappointment in the next beat. Sam was stretched out on the floor on his stomach near his brother. His long, skinny frame nearly filled the carpeted space between the couch and the kitchenette of the tiny, shabby house. John watched as Sam continued to read one of his ever-present school books. He steadily wiggled on his stomach, towing his book with him, back towards Dean on the couch. Sam curled his legs and rested his shins against the front of the ugly, worn piece of furniture. He stuck his sock clad feet in Dean's face as Dean continued to clean his gun.

Dean pulled a face and looked at Sam's feet and then at his little brother's mischievous face as he grinned up at him.

"Dude, I smell corn chips."

"What?" Sam said even as he grinned and giggled. Dean put the pistol aside and tackled his little brother.

"Wrestling practice, geek boy!" Sam giggled as Dean tickled him and then he quickly fell into using the difficult moves that Dean had been teaching him recently. Within five minutes Sam had his bigger, more muscular brother pinned to the carpet in the rundown living room. John watched, secretly pleased that Sam had taken to the fighting lessons like he had his school work. John knew those moves would save his little boy's life someday, probably sooner than any of them thought.

"Okay, boys. Table, now." Sam and Dean instantly stopped horsing around and stood, coming to the table quietly. Dean looked over his dad's research scattered about the worn, chipped surface.

"You figure out what's killing people who go into the Bayou?" Dean asked as he sat opposite his dad. Sam took the other chair but his eyes kept straying to where his book lay on the carpet of the living room floor.

"It's something like a bog monster, or a Mhorag. Smaller, but just as lethal."

"Like the Honey Island thing?" Dean asked

"Yeah. No one's seen it and lived though. This one is hunting the people that manage to get away. It's like it catches a scent, then tracks it's prey. The last three kills were in the people's houses. They were all cypress harvesters that work out of the swamp for a local landscaping company. They harvested down trees to make mulch and gardening supplies. It finds their scent in the swamp and hunts them down. I'm wondering if it's not slightly vampiric by the way it can track by scent. We're going out tonight to stop this thing."

"Dad, I have this big test tomorrow in school. I need to study!" Sam said.

"This hunt is what's important. You know that Sam. Damnit, it's what we do!"

"No Dad! It's revenge! IT'S WHAT YOU DO. I WANNA GO TO SCHOOL!"

"Samuel Winchester! This thing is KILLING people. It's evil and we're gonna stop it. YOU'RE GOING AND THAT IS AN ORDER!"

"Whatever." Sam muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"What the hell did you just say?"

"YES SIR!"

"Good. Now both of you, pack up. Gear in the car in ten minutes." John said as he glanced at his watch., 5:50 pm.

"Yes sir." Dean and Sam said automatically, going to stash weapons into various duffle bags along with other tools of the trade. Dean grabbed two of the bags and headed for the car. His brother picked up one and lagged behind him. Dean pulled his key from his pocket and opened the trunk. He ran his hands over the car he hoped would be his soon and glared at Sam.

"What is with you and school? And why the hell are you always pickin' fights with dad? Just fall in line and…"

Sam cut him off, glaring at his older brother. "I don't wanna fall in line Dean. I don't even know why we do this. Because something killed mom? Last I checked we lived in Kansas. Kansas doesn't have swamp monsters Dean! _It_ didn't kill mom so why are we hunting it down?"

"Sam. Shut. Your. Mouth. You know damn well why we do what we do! Its evil, it dies. You know that." Dean slammed the bags he carried into the trunk and ripped the one out of Sam's hands to drop it with the others.

"Yeah, well I'm not evil and I feel like I'm dyin'."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"I can't play soccer; I can't join the drama club. I can't even pass my tests because the hunt comes first! When are we gonna come first Dean? Don't you care that we're nothin' but soldiers to dad? Don't you want a life Dean?"

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and shook him. He opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by his dad.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" John roared as he glared at his warring boys. "Load up."

"Yes sir." Dean said again, automatically taking the front passenger seat of the sleek black car. Fourteen year old Sam lagged behind and climbed into the back seat without a word. He moved into the corner of the big bench and sulked, staring out the window. John fired the rumbling engine and sped off into the night.

At the edge of town the road turned to gravel and then to rutted clay, forcing John to slow the big, low slung black car to a crawl. He stopped when the Bayou swallowed the road surface. "Boys, looks like we're on foot from here. Get the gear." Dean stepped from the car and went to the trunk. He used the key his father had given him to once again open the lid. Bracing it with a disused rifle he rummaged through for the bags they would carry into the swamp. He pulled a high powered rifle from the arsenal for himself and John came to his side and pulled a .308 from the trunk. Sam strapped a knife to his side and at fourteen would remain between the two hunters with no gun in his hands. He couldn't help the chill of a bad vibe that settled between his shoulder blades.

John shouldered a bag that contained rock salt, spare ammo and accelerant. He led the way into the heart of the Bayou with his boys following, on full alert for something, anything to let him know the creature was close. In the interior of the Bayou the Winchesters stopped. The swamp was chilly in October, shrouded in shadows as absolute darkness lurked menacingly under the hulks of the massive moss laden cypress trees.

The darkness of evening seemed to encroach and swallow the three hunters as they stilled in the suddenly silent environment. Guns held at the ready they looked around, Dean moving stealthily to cover the rear. Sam pulled his knife and although it wasn't much protection, he felt safer for having it.

A snarl sounded out in the darkness under the trees. It was impossible to tell where it came from. "Dad, there!" Sam cried out as his alert eyes caught a blurred movement off in the darkness under the cypress trees. John quickly followed the movement, his eyes latching onto the blur. He fired and was greeted by a snarl rather than a sound of pain as the thing gave an abrupt lurch and changed directions. John lost it.

"I got it!" Dean said, following the blur to take true aim. He fired his high powered rifle, the bang echoing in the stillness of the bayou. Again the beast snarled. "Damn." Dean quickly expelled the spent shell casing and raised his rifle to the ready again. He scanned the woods and looked for the thing that continued to move at a blur between the trees.

"It's close." Sam whispered; his nose crinkling as he caught a scent somewhere between the smell of rotten vegetable matter and a wet dog. Sam turned before Dean and John to face the opposite direction from them. He moved forward, out from between them as something caught his eye in the darkness. "Dean. It's staring at me."

"What?" Dean raised his gun and followed Sam's look seeing nothing. "Where?" Suddenly the four foot tall, gray, matted ball of fur struck Dean full force as it lunged from the darkness. It tackled him to the mud and swiped a long clawed paw across Dean's hand, knocking the rifle from his grasp. He wrestled with the small gray blue beast for all of thirty seconds before it disappeared even before John could get a clear shot. Sam helped Dean up from the mud.

"Boys, get in close. I don't want that thing… Unh!" The beast tackled John from behind, forcing him face first into the dirt. Luckily he'd been on a rotted tree stump and he didn't sink in the mud. He'd managed to turn and bring the butt of his rifle down on the beast's shoulder. It howled and disappeared into the darkness again. John stood up and breathed, trying to stop the pain in his ribs from where he'd landed on the rotten, but still not soft, stump. He started to go the direction the beast had fled but was beaten to the punch as it came out of the darkness again. This time it went for the only remaining untouched Winchester. Sam's five and a half foot lanky frame was no match for the sixty pound flying ball of muscle beneath gray matted fur. Upon impact Sam and the creature tumbled several feet over the ground, with the thing clawing and snarling, and fell into the bog that lay near the path, a deadly trap in the darkness. Sam and the beast both disappeared beneath the green, slimy film on the water.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled out, rushing to the edge of the bog where he quickly sank to his knees in the muck that lay at the water's edge. He plunged both arms into the murky water up to his shoulders and tried to find his brother beneath the brown water. He barely kept from pitching forward himself as his knees sank into the muck. "SAMMY, REACH FOR ME!" Dean hollered as if Sam could hear him beneath the water's surface. Suddenly there was a thrashing at the water's edge opposite where they were now. The beast broke the scummy surface, covered in slime and baring its two inch long teeth with a growl in their direction. John raised the rifle he held and fired. The beast jumped and disappeared into the darkness as the bullet lodged into the soft ground, sending a clump of mud flying. A cry of rage sounded out from the beast as it took off without its intended prey.

Dean started as he reached further into the muck when he felt John's arms close around him from behind, anchoring him from falling into the bog. John held fast to his oldest and a litany began in his head concerning his youngest._ Please Sammy. Let us find you. Baby boy, my baby boy, please be okay._ _Please Sammy, pleasepleaseplease._

Dean gasped as his blindly searching hands clutched mud soaked cloth. "Sam." Dean gathered as much of the material into his slippery hands as he could. "Dad, I got him. PULL!" John pulled back against Dean's ribcage and Sam surfaced, clutched in Dean's straining arms. He was face down in the murky water, coated with mud and bog slime and unmoving. One final pull and Sam's body broke free of the pull the water had on it. Sam landed in Dean's lap as Dean and John both landed on their butts in the mud. Dean quickly turned Sam over onto his back and crawled out from under him. "Sam? Sammy! C'mon, breathe!" Dean turned Sam onto his side and thumped him on the back trying to dislodge the muck he could see in Sam's mouth and nose. He reached around and opened Sam's mouth, sticking a finger inside and pulling out a clump of black muck. Sam gagged and began coughing, shudders wracking his frame, as he continued to bring up water and muck followed closely by what was left of his dinner when he vomited. Dean gathered Sam into his mud covered arms and helped him expel the muck from his system.

Tears made clean paths down Sam's mud covered cheeks as he continued to choke, gasping for air around the heaves. He finally settled some.

"That's it Sammy. You okay?" Sam continued trying to breathe, his nose running as his body tried to get all the filth out.

He finally nodded slightly and stammered. "D-dean, 'm c-cold."

"Dean, take Sam back to the car. I'm gonna find this thing and put it down." John said, even as he groaned and put a hand to his bruised ribs as he stooped to pick up his discarded rifle.

"No Dad." Dean said, glaring at his father in the darkness, as Sam continued crying, clutching at Dean's mud covered, soaked jacket. Dean wrapped his arms around his baby brother.

"What? I thought I gave you an order, son."

"I said no. You're hurt. I'm a mess, and Sammy's half sick and freezing. I'm not gonna make him sit in that damn cold car at the edge of the Bayou in October while you hunt down some rotten smelling monkey wannabe with teeth! If I go with him to the car I'm takin' him home and you're on your own!" Dean was pissed at John for Sam's suffering. _Sammy should have been allowed to stay home and study. He always gets hurt when damn dad gets bullheaded._

"Alright, we'll go home, clean up and I'm coming back out. You can stay with your brother."

"Fine. C'mon Sammy." Sam looked up and scrubbed a hand over his tear washed face, smearing mud over it once again.

"Okay, Dean." Sam muttered, avoiding yet another disappointed stare from his father. John turned and started back the way he had come into the swamp, letting Dean bring his brother. Sam stood, feeling Dean's eyes on him as his big brother looked him over for injury. He hid the grimace on his muddy face as he felt a burn across his abdomen, not wanting his dad to feel that he'd messed up another hunt. Dean still caught the look.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah, Dean, just sore. That thing hit me hard." Sam hunched into his jacket as Dean put a muddy hand to his shoulder and guided him back to the Impala behind their father. Sam's shivers caused another flare of pain across his abdomen.

The beast stopped under one of the ancient cypress trees, still exposed enough that it could see the Winchesters but they couldn't see it. Its mistress stepped out from behind the tree and put her hand to the back of the beast's head, stroking the matted, rotting fur almost lovingly. She looked down, her gray sightless eyes communing with her pet, her familiar.

"You sense it, don' ya?" A deep Creole accent came from the woman. The beast looked up at her and its eyes shone with an emotion only she could interpret. She didn't have to see her familiar to feel the vibration of power thrumming through the creature. She sensed it too. "The boy, he be the one to give us what we need. He be the one to give us back our life."

**A/N: Okay Peanut. Hope that was a good start for you? To everyone else who's reading I hope you enjoyed and decide to let me know. Next chapter up tomorrow.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's chapter two for everyone following this story. It ramps up the action a little bit. There's some more angst and arguments too for all who commented on that.**

**To all the reviewers out there who did drop me a line THANK YOU SO MUCH! This story was different than anything else I've written and I'm glad so many feel it's worth the time to read. To all the others who marked it as an alert or fave, I'd love to hear from you too. I do try to respond to every reviewer because I truly am grateful to everyone who hits that button. Enjoy chapter two! **

**Chapter 2**

They had made their way back to the Impala, breath fogging in the darkness. Sam was still shivering and Dean had joined him. John opened the trunk and stowed the guns, reaching back in for three army blankets he kept there. He handed one to Sam and another to Dean. Sam took the blanket, wincing and trying to hide it as the weight pushed against his sore abs. "Wrap yourselves up and get in the car." John said curtly.

John threw his own blanket on the driver's seat and crawled in the car. Dean took shotgun, wrapping the blanket around his trembling frame. Sam curled up as best he could in the back seat behind Dean, making sure to stay out of John's line of sight in the rearview mirror. He knew he looked like he was in pain. He felt like he was in hell. He tried to suppress a wince every time the heavy car found another pot hole, every time John hit the brakes too hard. It wasn't easy. He had a cough nagging him, suffocating him slowly but he knew if he allowed it to win that he'd pass out from pain. John would look at him with that look; that Sammy-botched-another-hunt look. He just wanted-needed- to clean up and go to bed, without a lecture and without pity for poor hurt Sammy.

John pulled the Impala into the gravel driveway of the rundown house, smashing a couple wayward clumps of grass that had sprouted up through the gravel. He stopped the big car and killed the engine. "Go get cleaned up Sam. You too Dean." John said as he pushed the door open and got out, heading for the trunk. He pulled the muddy rifles from the trunk and headed to the house. Dean got out, keeping the blanket close against his shivering body and looked back at Sam as he lagged behind. Sam pushed himself up from the backseat and couldn't mask the wince and stumble as pain lanced through his body.

"Hey man, you sure…"

"I'm fine Dean."

"Okay, c'mon then. It's cold." Dean turned after giving Sam another glance and then walked towards the house after shrugging his blanket wrapped shoulders. Sam lowered his eyes miserably after catching Dean's uncaring gesture and followed his brother inside. John had already shed his muddy boots and jacket and had washed the mud from his arms and face at the kitchen sink when Sam came through the front door. He watched his brother's back disappear into the bathroom and the door close behind him. Sam sighed and wrapped the blanket tighter about his shivering frame even as he tried to stifle a groan of pain. John had one of the rifles broken down and was cleaning it when he heard Sam's muffled sound.

"You sure you're okay Sammy?"

"Yeah dad." Sam said; forcing a small smile to show on his mud smeared face.

"Okay." John said, shifting his attention back to the rifle in his hands. Sam pulled the near sodden blanket closer and felt like crying. His shivers elicited another flash of pain across his abdomen and he couldn't stop the gasp this time. John looked at him critically. "Sam…"

"I'm fine Dad. Dean's just slow and I'm cold."

"Dean!" John hollered. Dean came out of the bathroom clad in clean jeans and shirt. He had a towel draped over his spiky hair and jumped when his dad yelled.

"Yeah, I'm done. All yours runt."

"Go get cleaned up Sam."

"Yes sir." he muttered. Sam went into the bathroom and carefully closed the door. He dropped the blanket from his shoulders, and moving slowly to keep the pain at bay, he managed to shed his jacket, boots and jeans. His t-shirt, besides being shredded was covered with swamp muck and blood. It was in tatters across his abdomen. Sam looked at himself in the mirror and caught his trembling lip between his teeth._I'm not gonna be a baby._ He peeled the bloody fabric away from the wound and stifled a cry as he pulled it up over his head. He dropped his shirt to the floor and his gaze to the four bloody claw marks that stretched from his navel to where his left elbow rested against his side. He finished stripping off his sopping clothes and turned on the water in the bathtub as hot as he could stand it. He stepped in and turned on the spray, stifling a cry as the water that contacted the raw gashes felt more like acid than warm bathwater. He rinsed blood and muck from his torso and rinsed his hair. He then took a soft washcloth and the soap and scrubbed the wound as best he could. He finished washing and rinsed the cloth, using it as a compress beneath his hand to stop the blood flow the cleaning had started again. When he felt clean enough he stepped from the shower and wrapped a thin towel around his waist. He reached for another one, a red one, and used it to dab the wound and surrounding area dry. Sam slapped a piece of gauze from the med kit, stashed under the sink, to the wound and haphazardly taped it down. He threw on the sweats and t-shirt he'd worn last night that he'd retrieved from the laundry pile, not wanting to leave the bathroom for his bedroom should his family see he was hurt.

A knock sounded at the door that had him jumping and wincing at the quick movement.

"Sam, come on. I wanna clean up and get back out there." Sam quickly put the first aid kit back beneath the sink and wrapped the paper from the gauze sponge in a tissue before throwing it in to the trashcan by the toilet. He kicked his bloody torn t-shirt and mud soaked jeans into the laundry pile, making sure the tattered shirt wasn't visible. He went to the door and opened it to find Dean salting the doors and windows. John went into the bathroom and came back out a few minutes later.

"Okay, you boys stay here. Sammy, get some sleep. I'm going after that thing."

"Dad, no. I'm going with you. You're ribs are messed up."

"Dean, you need to stay with Sam."

"I just wanna sleep Dad. I'm fine. Dean can go if he wants." Sam said softly as he moved to his bed and sank down, trying to stop the look of pain that crossed his features.

"The windows and doors salted?" John asked.

"Did the lines myself." Dean replied.

"Wards?"

"Up as soon as I ditched the mud." He answered again.

John turned to Sam who had curled up loosely on the bed. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah dad."

"Let's go then." John handed Sam his cell phone. "You call Dean if you need something. And remember…"

"Don't answer the door and shoot first and ask later. I got it dad."

"Okay Dean. Let's go." John and Dean grabbed the gear that had been brought into the house and returned to the Impala. Pulling out of the driveway John was silent. Dean cast a glance in the side mirror at the dimly lit shabby house. _I wonder if he's really okay?_

Sam stood near the bed, where he knew he couldn't be seen, but he could see. He watched the Impala pull out of the drive and head back to the edge of town and the Bayou that swallowed the road. He lifted his shirt as pain and a sensation of warmth rippled over his slim torso. He looked down and groaned when he saw the blood seeping through the haphazardly placed piece of gauze. He slowly made his way to the bathroom and now that he was alone, he took more time in patching up the wound as Dean and his dad had taught him. He fought back a feeling of sickness as he put a thicker layer of gauze over the ragged edged claw marks and then picked up the towel he'd used earlier, holding it to the wound with all the pressure his suddenly drained body could muster. He shuffled back to his bed and eased down. Stifling a groan and berating himself for being a baby, he pushed harder than intended on the wound and cried out when pain blanketed him. Easing up, he tried to fight off the beckoning darkness and couldn't.

John pulled the Impala back into the same spot where he had parked on their first trip out earlier that night. "Let's go get that thing, Dean."

"Yes sir." Dean replied, wanting to kill the thing that had tried to hurt his little brother. Dean got out of the car and had his key in the lock for the trunk when his father joined him.

"You take point Dean. My ribs are killin' me." John said, hating to admit his weakness to his eldest but knowing that if Dean didn't know, then it would lead to trouble if the beast attacked. They flipped on their flashlights and began walking into the interior of the bayou once again, this time with eighteen year old Dean in the lead. He was on high alert, both wanting to kill the thing that had attacked his family and wanting to protect his father, who wasn't at the top of his game and had scared Dean by admitting it. They held the high powered rifles at the ready and walked into the swamp, to the point where they were first attacked. Scuff marks were still visible beneath the low hanging cypress trees. Dean shined his beam around, taking in the scene where Sammy had nearly been drowned by a rotten smelling swamp monster. They still hadn't seen the beast enough to recognize what it was. It was fast. Dean saw more scuff marks and prints in the soft mud from where Sam had been pulled from the bog. Fear flitted through him again at the thought of Sam being hurt. He quashed the unpleasant feeling and focused on the hunt. Dean held his rifle at the ready while John struggled to do the same with his ribs paining his every step. They hiked slightly further into the Bayou, still seeing no sign of the beast.

Eyes watched from the darkness as the two men walked away from the menace behind them. A soft, snuffling growl sounded out, too low in volume for the hunters to hear. The Creole woman stepped out from behind a tree and put her hand on her companions head. "Ah, the little one is no longer with them. Come, we be finding him now. That boy… he be the power we need." The woman's gray eyes followed the Winchesters' forms into the darkness of the Bayou. She breathed a laugh, and turned to the swamp, fading from sight into the approaching fog.

Sam woke two hours later and realized that the house was still empty. He was twisted about in sweat drenched covers. Sam lifted a hand that he realized was shaking to his forehead and wiped sweat out of his eyes._Oh no, fever._ He sat up on the bed and fought to still the spinning room. His stomach lurched and he staggered from the bed, unable to stop the sick feeling that washed over him. He made it into the bathroom and hit his knees in front of the toilet. He felt sicker when he tasted swamp muck yet again as the contents of his stomach made their second appearance of the night. Sam heaved until his world began blackening around the edges. He finally stilled and fought his way back to his feet, his exhausted, fevered body screaming at him for rest, to call his brother for help. _NO. I can handle this. I'm not a baby. I'm not a runt._ He moaned and cradled his abdomen, wincing at the burn there. His world spun and black spots swam across his field of vision as he lurched from the small bathroom back into his and Dean's bedroom, using furniture and walls for support. He stumbled again as dizziness swamped him and caught himself against the window frame to keep from crashing to the floor. He leaned his fevered, sweating forehead to the October cooled glass of the window, his overly warm breath instantly creating a blur of fog on the dirty pane. He relished the chill that worked its way through his screaming, fever scorched nerves. Sam forced himself to stand and pull away from the glass to open his eyes and peer into the darkness. He saw a dense fog rolling in and groaned again, hoping against hope that his dad and brother would come through the door any minute and he could turn himself over to their care, his pride be damned. Sam pushed off the window frame and stumbled again, reaching back quickly to catch himself. He didn't register the feel of a gritty substance beneath his fingers, didn't notice the disturbance in the think line of fine salt that Dean had laid in the window sill. That line that separated Sam from anything that may go bump in the night had just lost its effectiveness.

The fog surrounded the house, moving in to completely shroud it from prying eyes as a presence manifested outside the window. Red eyes turned to peer through the dingy glass at the form stumbling to his bed. Gray eyes followed. The beast thrummed with excitement as it felt the power radiating from the boy it had marked, with every burst of heat that came from the child. The gray eyes shifted from the youngest Winchester to the red eyed companion at her side. "You feel his power don'cha? It flows from him, callin' us. It'll be ours." The beast stood straight on its hind legs, just tall enough to touch the window sill with its gray furred, filthy, taloned hands. It growled and reeled back as if burned, its fur singed and stinking in the chilly night. "Ah, they know the wards." The witch clucked her tongue as her familiar huddled behind her, cradling its burned hands. She stepped forward, her odd eyes seeing and yet not. She sensed the power of the wards, the protection of pure salt on the other side of the thin glass. Her senses flared and she felt pleasure fill her as she scanned the rest of the house and found a chink in its protection. One window had the line of protection broken, the boy's presence close to her, drawing her like a starving predator to weak prey. She looked at her familiar and smiled, becoming the formless mist that shrouded the house, snaking her way through the poorly sealed, unprotected window. She was about to get what she craved. Power.

Dean and John made it to the Impala, Dean anxious as the fog seemed to shroud everything. It chilled him to the bone as it seemed to snake into the Bayou and suffocate him as it thickened.

John was angry. That damn beast had eluded them again. He hadn't even caught a glimpse enough to tell what it was. All he knew was that it had attempted to hurt his sons. It had killed and had to die. It was evil. His job was to stop it and he couldn't even find it. "Damn it! Get a move on Dean. Let's get back to the car. I'll come back out tomorrow night and find the thing." Dean stepped up his pace some after casting a glare at his father. _What the hell is up with him? I hope Sammy's okay. If he's asleep, he can avoid Dad._ They soon made it back to the Impala and stowed the weapons in the trunk under the false bottom. John moved to the driver's door and looked back into the Bayou, slamming his fist down on the roof of the car. "I know that damn thing was close. I could smell it. Then it just disappeared. Damn it!" John cursed his luck when pain ricocheted through his ribs from the force he'd put into the blow on the roof of the car.

They got into the Impala and began the now treacherous trek back to the house. The closer they got the more impenetrable the fog became. John slowed the car to a crawl and cursed when suddenly the beast appeared in the mists right in front of the car. Its red eyes glowed in the headlights and it snarled, revealing the dripping two inch white fangs it had tried to use on Sam and Dean. John whipped the wheel to the side and cursed as the car rolled over the edge of the broken pavement, flattening the tire on the jagged asphalt. "Damnit!"

Dean got out of the car where it sat sideways in the road and hurried to the trunk. Using his key, he was soon in and retrieving his rifle. He slammed the trunk and made a bee line off into the mist where he'd last seen the beast.

Fog streamed through the unprotected window filling the room with a menace that part of Sam, buried deep beneath the raging fever, sensed. He forced himself to wake where he'd fallen back on the bed. He opened eyes that didn't want to cooperate only to be faced with something he didn't want to see. A woman stood before him, reaching gray skinned, bony fingers out to him. Her gray eyes flashed and he felt fear rocket through him, momentarily making him forget the pain he was in. He bounded from the bed, adrenaline taking over, and dodged her grasp. "What do you want with me?"

"Your power, little one. My pet picked you for me." The witch lunged at him and sank her long nailed filthy fingers into the wound at his abdomen. Sam screamed in pain and rolled away, barely managing to bring up the shot gun and blast her with rock salt. She screeched in agony and dissipated into the fog that had filtered into the room. Sam fell to the floor, breathing hard and feeling blood pool beneath his body. She'd reopened his wounds. Sam pulled himself up as best he could and stretched, trying to ignore the pain and reach the cell phone that lay on the bedside stand. He knocked it off before he could grasp it and it hit the floor hard before sliding under the bed and away from him.

"No." he whispered, fighting back the blackness that threatened to swallow him. "Need Dean." He whispered as he pulled himself under the bed and finally grasped the phone. He pulled it to him and hit the button that dialed his brother.

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Dean had lost the creature in the fog and walked back to the Impala to find his father trying to change the tire. He heard his dad's muffled curses. Fury streaked through him at his father's attitude. "I'd have got that thing if Sam hadn't decided to take a mud bath. Damn thing decides to try and wreck us then. Damn rims bent!"

Dean fumed, losing control of his temper, as he stopped behind his father. "What the hell would you be sayin' if that thing had killed Sammy?! I swear if he hears _ANY_ of this and gets upset, you'll regret it. When are you gonna let up on him and let him be a kid?"

John turned to Dean and threw the lug wrench to the ground. "Don't you speak to me that way. I AM YOUR FATHER! As I recall, you aren't always the most understanding with the kid! _Runt, Freak. _That ring any bells Dean?"

Dean bit back a retort, knowing he was in the wrong with Sam too. His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. 'John' flashed across the screen and he knew it was Sammy. He answered.

"Hey kid. What's going on? Thought you were sleepin'."

"Dean?" Sam said weakly.

Fear streaked through Dean at the tone in his brother's voice. Something was wrong.

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

"The beast… witch's familiar. She was here. I… shot her… disappeared. Dean, I'm hurt. I….uhhhhnnnn…." Sam trailed off.

"Sammy?" Dean gripped the rifle in his hand tighter as he heard glass break in the background followed by a choked sound coming from Sam. "Sam, what the hell was that?"

"Dean, it's here. I broke the salt line I think…. I'm sorry." There was a crash in the background and a growl." Dean heard the phone hit the floor.

"SAM!!!" Dean's worried scream rang out through the phone that Sam heard even after it hit the hard floor.

The creature broke the window and came through, lunging at Sam as he dropped the phone and tried to raise the shotgun again. The beast knocked the gun from his hands and barreled into him full force. Sam and the beast flew backwards to hit hard on the ugly paisley throw rug that decorated the floor in the bedroom he shared with Dean. They landed in a thrashing tangle of arms and legs and rotten smelling fur. Tendrils of fog pushed into the room and surrounded them, a menacing cackle coming from the fog as the presence of the witch made herself known and gave power to the beast snarling at Sam. Sam tried to reach for the beast's throat, to keep those teeth from reaching him as the red eyes captured his fear filled hazel ones. The beast broke free and swiped at Sam with those claws that he'd already felt once, catching him again and ripping four wide gashes across his stomach. Sam screamed.

"GAAAHHHHHHHHHhhhh!"

"Dean, what?" John asked concerned about his youngest, which they'd left home alone.

"Fix the car. Sammy's in trouble." Dean gripped his rifle and took off toward the house in the fog at a dead run.

**A/N: I know, I did it again. If I hadn't ended this one here the chapter would have been too long. Don't hate me, I'll update tomorrow afternoon. Promise!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: AWWW, you guys ROCK!!! Thank you so much for all the fantastic reviews. Had a long day at work yesterday and came home to the most amazing comments ever! Scullspeare, Sammygirl, Psylocke, Peanut, SamDeanLover! You guys are the greatest!!**

**Here's the start of some medical drama. I don't have a medical beta or any other beta, although I did research some things. If anything stands out as being way off please let me know for future reference, but don't give up on it because of a few details. ANY and all mistakes are mine. Also want to say I so don't own any of them. I just wish I could cuddle up to Sammy and make him feel better! **

**Chapter 3**

Dean broke through the warped door with a steady kick, not stopping his forward momentum. He heard sounds of a scuffle coming from the bedroom he shared with Sam and took off to the back of the house. The sight before him stopped him dead for a split second until he heard Sam moan in agony. He raised the rifle and shot the beast that had just raised its head, glowing red eyes meeting his. The light abruptly left those red orbs as a bullet from the high powered rifle found its mark between them. The beast slumped on top of Sam, its blood mingling with his. Dean slid to his knees beside Sam, uncaring that blood soaked into his jeans, and rolled the four foot tall bundle of rotten fur off his baby brother. Dean cried out at the sight that was revealed in all its gore before his very eyes. Sam's chest and abdomen were pumping blood in an endless cascade onto the rug beneath him. His tee shirt was in tatters, revealing four jagged, deep gashes across his lower abdomen and four more that didn't appear as deep, but were very swollen looking, showing even beneath all the blood. The four deep gashes exposed Sam's rib bones and the organs beneath. Dean grabbed the large towel that happened to be lying discarded near Sam's body, and quickly folded it into a thick square. Using both hands, he applied pressure through it to the gushing wound beneath. Sam moaned at the pain Dean was causing and forced his eyes open.

"De…"

"Shhh, don't talk Sammy. I'm here. It's okay." Dean soothed. Sam rolled his head over the floor to look at his big brother. Dean met Sam's glassy eyes and forced a smile, his own green orbs stinging with tears. "You're gonna be okay." Dean whispered.

"Hurts." Sam whispered, eyes scrunching tight as Dean tried to keep Sam's life blood from pouring out of him.

"Shhh, shhh. I know kiddo."

"Daddy?" Sam whispered again, groaning when Dean flinched at the terrified, childlike tone that Sam used. _God, he hasn't called dad that in years. It's bad, it's really bad and he knows it. Don't you die on me! I'll die too, Sammy. Don't you give up! _

"Hey, you know I always could out run the old man." Dean said, forcing a smile while feeling his insides twist in trepidation. _Please Dad. He needs you. Just this once, don't let him down. Don't let us down._

"Out…….nnnhhhhhh…." Sam's eyes closed.

"No. Hey, hey…Sammy, you stay with me, ya hear me?" Sam's eyes opened sluggishly before seeming to focus some on Dean. They retained the glassy quality and Dean had to swallow back bile. The towel in his hands was wringing wet with his baby brother's blood. Dean heard the Impala grind to a halt outside the house. "I hear the car. I'm gonna go get Dad."

"Don' leave….Dean… don' wanna be… alone."

The engine stopped and panic surged through Dean as he glanced from the bedroom door to Sammy. Sam smiled slightly and his eyes slid closed with a whispered, "Daddy."

"No Sammy. Sam?" Dean splayed one hand over Sam's midsection, pressing hard, and reached the other one up to touch Sam's forehead, not caring that he left a bloody hand print. "Hey, c'mon. Wake up Sam. _Wake up!_" Dean's eyes shifted to the door once more. "DAAAAADDDDD!"

Dean screamed loud enough he was certain he'd woken the rest of the town. The rifle shot a few minutes ago had probably woken half. John barreled through the bedroom door, rifle held at the ready. He stopped dead at the sight before him. The beast lay in a tangled heap a few feet from where Dean was crouched on the floor. Sam lay still on the floor as Dean hovered. It seemed like every drop of Sam's blood was soaking into the rug around his still body. Dean was smeared with it and splatters were visible on Sam's face, a crimson hand print on his forehead. Sam was pale, his lashes laying in dark crescents against his paper white cheeks._ Oh my God. My baby boy! He's dead. I was so rough on him. Dean was right and now it's too late to make it up to him. My baby. _"Sammy, oh Sammy." John whispered brokenly.

"Dad help, he's still alive."

John wordlessly dropped the rifle and sprinted to the bathroom, returning seconds later with more towels and the med kit. "Okay Dean. We're gonna take care of him." John said as he dropped to his knees beside his two boys.

"Dad, this is more than we can handle. That sonofabitch nearly gutted him!"

"We're gonna field dress it and get him to the hospital at the other end of town. Here," John said as he eased a folded towel over the blood saturated one and Dean's stiffening fingers. He held down with both hands and allowed Dean to work his hand out from beneath while he maintained the pressure that was the only thing seemingly keeping Sam from bleeding out where he lay. Dean splayed the bloody hand back out and pushed down again. "Okay, take your other hand and hold the end of this." John said as he pulled a compression wrap from the med kit. Handing Dean the end of the six inch wide elastic wrap, John lifted Sam into his arms and supported him as he unwound the elastic around Sam's back. Sam cried out at the pain of being moved and his eyes opened to slits. Dean's heart skipped a beat.

"Sammy. Easy kiddo." He soothed, wishing for nothing more than a third hand so he could comfort his hurting baby brother.

"Hey kiddo, you with us?" John asked gruffly, emotion and regret choking him.

"Daddy?" Sam whispered, terror making him sound like that three year old boy who'd seen his first spirit.

"Yeah buddy. 'm here."

"De…"

"Shhh, shh. 'm here too, Sammy."

"Sorry…. Screwed up ag-ain."

"No, bud, you did good. Ya did good, okay. We're gonna patch you up and getcha help. Just don't leave us, alright."

"Tired."

"Oh, I know Sammy. Just a little longer." John finished wrapping the bandage around Sam's middle and grimaced as the pressure wrung Sam's blood out of the sopping towel to soak into the beige wrap before dripping onto his jeans. John felt the warmth of his baby's blood seep into his clothes and it chilled him to the bone. Dean worked his other hand out from beneath the wrap and John fastened the Velcro closure tightly.

"Let's get him help." John stood, still keeping Sam in his arms and Dean rushed out to the car, flinging open the back door. "Get in Dean. I need you to hold Sammy." Dean did as told and got in the car, taking his baby brother into his arms as John lowered him gingerly to the black vinyl seat. Sam moaned in pain and Dean stroked his forehead with a hand coated with sticky, drying blood.

"Shh, shh. Sammy, you're okay. I gothcha. I gotcha." John shut the door with a bang and flew into the driver's seat. The engine fired and he peeled down the road in the direction of the hospital. The hospital across town. John pulled onto the main road through town and floored the gas. The Impala lurched and roared down the road, the powerful engine coming to life. _Faster, faster. Sammy needs help. Oh, my Sammy, my baby boy. You stay strong kiddo. I can't lose you, I have too much to make up for._

Sam writhed in Dean's arms, pain and heat radiating from him and searing Dean. His breath was ripped out of him in ragged gasps and a blue tinge quickly appeared on his lips. "Dad, somethin's wrong. He can't breathe!" Dean looked at Sam as John's horrified eyes shifted to the rearview mirror to catch his sons' images. Dean's tear filled gaze didn't lift; instead he caressed his brother's cheek with a bloody hand and cooed to him. "One more minute. One more minute, Sammy. You hang on, ya hear me?"

John shifted his eyes back to the road and negotiated the turn off into the emergency room parking area. He didn't hit he brakes until he'd nearly put the front end of the Impala through the doors. He was out of the car almost before he put it in park and killed the engine. He threw open the back door and pulled Sam from Dean's arms. "Dean GO!" Dean sprinted to the sliding doors, not waiting for them to open fully before he squeezed through and was greeted by horror stricken faces.

"HHEEEEELLLLLPPPPP!" He screamed.

A doctor approached swiftly followed by a nurse and orderly with a gurney in tow. John was coming through the doors at a lope with Sam clutched to his chest like the most fragile of precious treasures. The gurney came to a halt in front of John and he gently lowered Sam to it. The nurse grabbed him and pulled him back while the doctor fired off questions.

"What happened?" John watched as he put a stethoscope to Sam's chest and listened. John remained silent, his fearful gaze locked on his baby boy's face. Dean spoke up.

"My brother got mauled by a stray dog."

"What's his name?"

"Sammy. Sam. His name's Sam." Dean stammered, not wanting to give the doctor the right to use his nickname for his baby brother. He watched as the doc briskly rubbed Sam's sternum with his large knuckles.

"Sam, can you hear me?" The doctor asked as they took off with him towards one of the trauma rooms Dean knew would be situated on the other side of the red ER doors. The doors that would separate him from his brother. Sam groaned and his eyes opened only to fall closed again. One of the new nurses that had come onto the scene made a choked sound. "He's crashing! Let's move!" They whisked him through the doors and out of sight.

"_He's crashing."_ Those words broke through the haze that had surrounded Dean and he cried out. "SAMMY!" Dean started towards the hated red doors only for John to jump into action for the first time since putting his youngest down on the gurney.

John wrapped his arms around his son's lean waist and held him back, pulling him close and turning his head to speak into Dean's ear. "Dean. It's okay. It's gonna be okay. They'll take care of him. We have to believe that, son." Dean turned into John and flung his arms around his dad's waist. He sobbed, going weak in the knees as the surge of adrenaline he'd felt earlier deserted him. John wrapped his arms around his oldest, his heartsick son, and held him tight. "He'll pull through. He has to." John whispered to his son. A nurse walked up to them and John lifted his chin from the top of Dean's head and met her eyes. She had dark hair, laced with gray, pulled back into a loose bun, and soft green eyes. She had a compassionate look on her face and reached out to John, as if to comfort before dropping her hand.

"Come. I'll show you where you can clean up." She said with a soft southern accent.

"I'll go get us some clothes. Dean, sit down for a minute. I'll be right back okay?"

"Yes, sir." Dean said, slumping into the chair a few steps from where they had been standing.

The kind eyed nurse came up to Dean and crouched down before him, catching his lowered chin in her soft hand and lifting it to meet his tear filled eyes. "He'll be okay. Doctor Jensen is the best around."

"I can't lose my brother." Dean said simply, those five small words becoming a litany that echoed through his mind and soul even as they were whispered into the room.

John returned with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "I moved the car and I have some clean clothes for us."

"Okay, I'll show you to the showers and then where you can get some coffee." She turned and led the way away from the doors. John put an arm on Dean's shoulders as he stopped and turned to look at the red portal that had swallowed his Sammy.

"C'mon Dean. We'll be quick." John said softly. Dean turned from the doors and couldn't help but feel that he was turning from Sammy. The nurse led the way down a short hall and pointed to a door.

"The shower is there." She pointed to one further down the hall. "That's the lounge. The coffee is good and there are comfortable chairs. You can try to rest for a bit. I'll come get you if there's news on the little one."

"Thank you." John said, not releasing his grip on Dean as he turned and led his son into the showers. They took two stalls close to the door and soon both were standing under the hot spray.

Sam was wheeled into a trauma room and they quickly began working on him, hooking him to monitors and machines. "Blood Pressure at eighty over forty. He's running a temp of 104." A nurse said as the doctor began cutting away the field dressing John had applied. The dressing parted and blood spurted from the wound.

"Clamp!" The doctor shouted. A nurse handed him a clamp and the doctor clamped off the pumping vein. "How has this child not bled out before this? Hook up and push a pint of O-neg. Get a saline wash going so we can look at these wounds." The doctor said as he cut Sam's shirt away. A nurse stepped up quickly with a squirt bottle resembling a clear juice box with and angled, blunt tipped straw and several sponges. She flooded the wound with saline solution and mopped up the mess with the sponges, quickly staining them a sickening pink. Soon the wounds were clean but still seeping and the doctor felt sick at what had been revealed. Four small gashes on Sam's lower abdomen were very swollen and seeping yellow pus. Black streaks edged out from the wounds in all directions and shared space with the newer wounds.

Sam shuddered on the table and the monitors gave a series of fast beeps followed by a monotone squeal. "We've lost his heartbeat. He's not breathing!" A nurse cried.

"Get a dry gurney." The doctor and nurses quickly lifted him and placed him on the dry gurney. "Bag 'im. Get me the paddles and charge to three hundred." A beep sounded as the paddles were charged; quickly raising to a frequency that no one could hear. The nurse watched for a second, taking a reading, before lubricating the paddles and handing them to the doctor. Another nurse pumped a translucent blue bag hooked to a mask over Sam's nose and mouth.

"Charged."

"Okay, everybody. All clear." Several sets of hands went up into surrender position immediately and the doc applied the paddles to Sam's bare chest. His back arched off the table as electricity coursed through him.

"Nothing!"

"Again!"_C'mon kid. I'm not going to sit by and lose you._ The doctor thought, determined to see that this child lived through the night.

"Charged."

"All clear." Again the hands went up and Sam arched painfully off the table, taking in a choking gasp as his heart started beating again.

"BPs coming up. Seventy palp. Pulse is weak and thready. We've got weak sinus rhythm." A nurse said, looking relieved.

"Let's get him to an OR." Doc Jensen looked at the clock on the wall. _9:07 p.m. This is going to be a long night for this boy if it doesn't end before sunrise_.

Dean stood under the hot spray of the shower, watching as Sam's blood sluiced down his body to be carried down the drain between his feet. He felt sick, chilled to the bone as he was helpless to watch._ Sammy, you stay with me. Please, baby brother, I need you. I can't do this without ya._ "Sammy." Dean whispered brokenly as his tears mingled with the heat of the spray cascading over his bowed head. Nausea swamped him and he turned off the shower quickly. Wrapping a towel about his waist he lurched the few feet to a stall containing a commode. He heaved violently as soon as he fell to his knees on the clean cold tile. He didn't hear the water in the other shower stop. He didn't hear his father emerge, towel about his waist. He felt a calloused, but gentle, warm hand against his bare shoulder when his retching stopped.

"Dean, what happened back there? With Sam?"

"That thing broke through the window while he was on the phone with me. Sammy said somethin' about accidentally breakin' a salt line. He said he was hurt dad. I think that he meant he was hurt from before, when it barreled into him in the Bayou. Anyhow, I heard him say somethin' about that thing bein' a witch's familiar and then I heard him scream…. He said he shot her and she disappeared. I hope he killed the bitch!"

C'mon Dean. Let's go see if there's any word."

"Yes, sir." Dean whispered, moving to the sink and quickly rinsing his mouth. They dressed in silence, Dean pulling a hoodie on over his black tee shirt. He hunched into it, trying to get warm, and shoved his hands into the pocket in front. They stepped out of the shower room.

"Dean, you want some coffee?" John asked.

"No thanks." Dean mumbled, his eyes already lingering on the red doors that kept him from his brother. John went into the lounge and poured a cup of thick black coffee. Taking a sip of the hot brew upset his already precarious hold on his meager stomach contents and he threw up into the trash can.

"Oh Sammy." John cried, a lone tear working it's way down the side of his nose to fall into the trashcan he lingered over.

The kind nurse from before peeked her head in, tears welling in her soft green eyes as she saw the father's anguish over his son's injury and knew she had to help. She just didn't know how she could at this moment. She turned away from the door silently. John stood and rinsed his mouth in the small sink. He threw the Styrofoam cup still full of coffee into the trash and walked out of the lounge to join his heartbroken oldest son for word on their baby boy.

Dean had lowered himself into the same chair just opposite the red doors in the small waiting area when John walked up to his son. He was pale, freckles standing out on his face, as he stared unflinchingly at the red doors, hands still in his hoodie pocket. He couldn't contain a shiver as a chill worked its way through him and John reached out, pulling his oldest into his arms. Dean leaned in, putting his head on his father's chest. Soon the strong heartbeat he heard there lulled him into an exhausted, restless sleep. John raised his left hand to his son's hair and stroked the soft golden brown spikes gently. Dean sighed in his sleep and settled some, losing a bit of the restlessness. John continued to stroke his boy's hair, the gold band on his finger catching the fluorescent light above them. John became lost in thought.

_Oh Mary, what have I done to our boys?_ _I've lost you. Dean and Sammy have lost their mom, their innocence. Now Sammy? Oh Mary, don't let him die. I've hurt him so much. I love him. Dean loves him. Don't let us lose him._ The red ER doors slid open soundlessly several hours later as John was still lost in thought. Two people came through and John jumped, his eyes focusing for the first time on something other than the floor tiles. Dean was startled awake by John's flinch and the involuntary tightening of his arm.

"Sammy?" Dean cried, sitting up and warily eyeing the doctors. One he recognized as the doctor who'd taken Sammy through those red doors and away from him. The other, a stranger, came to stand in front of John and Dean. He was dressed in crimson stained green scrubs. Dean's stomach dropped even as he and John stood to face the doctor that looked like he had survived a bloody war. The man was a couple inches shorter that John, slim, with a haughty attitude and dark brown hair.

"Sammy." John said, making the simple nickname a statement and a prayer at the same time. The doctor that they had seen before stepped up and spoke to the Winchesters.

"I'm Nathaniel Jensen. I was Sam's doctor before he was taken to surgery with Doctor Garbee here. I'll leave him tell you about your son's condition." Jensen walked off, and John turned his attention to the other doctor, appraising the man instantly and not liking what he saw one bit. The man had an arrogance about him that John found grating. He looked at the man and waited. The surgeon said nothing.

"How's my son?" John asked, hands itching to strangle the man that was already getting on his nerves by sheer attitude alone.

"Dying." The doctor said brusquely, with no emotion at all.

**A/N: He, he! Did it again! Sorry, really. Don't hate me, there's more to come tomorrow. Blame the evil cliffie demon that is whispering in my ear,"Leave it there, leave it there..." Quick, call the guys!**

**A/N: I know you guys hate being left like this. I'm not saying that I want you to beg but if I hear that you want another chapter tonight I'll be able to oblige. Let me know! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay, this is it for tonight. I have two chapters left after this one and they are only coming your way one a night. Don't beg. I'm treating you guys tonight because the cliffie demon has been temporarily exorcised! Enjoy and don't forget to drop me a line! BTW, if you don't already hate that doctor like I was hoping for, you definitely will now. Please tell me you like Grace. I hope so**

**Again, any medical mistakes are mine. I did some research but I'm not a doctor and have never(knock on wood) been this sick! **

**Chapter 4**

"Excuse me?" John asked, sure he hadn't heard right. Dean gasped beside him.

"I suggest you go home, get some rest. We'll keep him comfortable and call you when you can claim the body and make arrangements..."

"You SONOFABITCH!" Dean growled, launching himself at the doctor.

"Dean! ENOUGH!" John said as he caught his furious son about the waist and turned him. John gave him a shove back to the chairs they had so recently vacated. "SIT DOWN!"

"Yes, sir." Dean muttered, sitting down in the hard plastic chair, his hands fisted so tight that his nails cut bloody crescents in his calloused palms.

"Just what the hell are you saying about my son?" John said as he turned back to face the doctor, with a barely controlled rage flaring through him.

"He's suffering from Bacteremia, bordering right now on Septic Shock. It's coupled with extensive blood loss _and_ complications from a lacerated liver, stomach and large intestine. The bacteria that have infiltrated his system came from a previous injury, another mauling it appears, and is running rampant through his system. His organs are beginning to fail. He crashed three times before and during surgery. I brought him back but it has put a terrible strain on his heart and lungs which ups the ante of those organs failing sooner rather than later. His kidneys have already begun to fail so toxins aren't able to be flushed from his system. Like I said, we're keeping him on a course of strong antibiotics as well as dialysis and transfusions to keep the toxin build up at a minimum as long as we can. His chances of surviving the night are practically nil. It's pretty obvious that the previous injury wasn't taken care of as it should have been and that's what allowed the infection to start." The doctor glared at John, holding him responsible, and looking down his nose at the boy before him. "It's the source of the building Sepsis. His death isn't on my hands." The doctor turned and began to walk away.

"Wait. We wanna see Sammy." Dean cried, bolting from the chair again.

"Kid, I suggest you remember him the way he was and …" The doc never got to finish that thought before John had him pinned against the ER wall.

"_I_ suggest you show us to my son's room and you shut your damn mouth if you wanna keep it centered on your face!" John growled menacingly, just inches from the man's slightly hooked nose.

The doc paled and held up his hands. "F-fine." He stammered. John released him from his position several inches above the tile floor. When he fell, his paper slip covered shoes made a rustling sound against the waxed tile floor. "F-follow me."

They walked down the hall and to an elevator. The doctor hit the button for the second floor and waited for the door to open. He then motioned John and Dean through and slipped in behind them, shying as far away as possible from the irate oldest Winchester who glared silently at him. The elevator doors closed and the doc punched the button for the third floor.

"He's in PICU." The doc explained, warily eyeing John Winchester again, as if waiting for an attack. None came. The elevator lurched to a stop and with a ding, the doors opened. Doctor Garbee led the way down a short hall and into a room lined with beds and incubators. It was empty save for one. A bed near the wall was surrounded by beeping, whirring machinery, so much so that neither John nor Dean could see the occupant. That didn't stop them from knowing that it was their Sammy.

"Aw, God. Sammy." Dean rushed forward, skirting the doctor and his dad and went to Sam's side. He reeled at what he saw. Sam, so tiny and lost on a sea of white sheets that wanted to drown him. His skin was so pale he nearly blended in perfectly, except for the flush of fever that reddened his cheeks, the dark crescents of his eyelashes against those cheeks and the mop of unruly brown hair that splayed about the pillow behind his head. His left hand had an IV line protruding from it, delivering a clear liquid in a steady dose, leaving the skin around it shiny and bruised where the needle went under. Dean followed his arm up to his shoulder and startled when he raised his head to look at Sam's face, obscured mostly by the ventilator's breathing tube that had been fastened into place. Dean's eyes shied away from the heartbreaking sight of his baby brother so broken, and instead followed the lines of more machinery, the leads making Sam appear if he were Fate's marionette. They were connected to him everywhere, snaking under the covers, contacts on several points on his bare, bandage swathed abdomen and chest. Another line came out from under the covers at Sam's waist and went to a bag connected to the bottom of the bed. Dean grimaced, he'd been hurt enough to know he hated catheters. Sam would too when he woke.

Dean followed the wire leads back to the respective machinery that they were hooked to and saw the jagged lines marking every beat that Sam's heart struggled to take. They were irregular, going from fast to slow. The beep that accompanied them was a staccato tone, not measured like it should have been. Dean moved forward and noticed still more lines coming from Sam, one at his right elbow, carrying blood to his body from what appeared to be a filter. Another line came from under his blanket and was also filled with blood. A different lead went to a small white device fastened to Sam's right forefinger. Dean had also seen enough of them from the time a poltergeist had punctured his lung that he knew it was measuring the oxygen in his blood, judging in this case when_ -No! If-_ if Sam's lungs started to fail. Dean pulled one of the chairs close to Sam and sat near his shoulder on his left side. "Sammy," Dean whispered, "Hey kiddo, dad and I are here Sammy. We're here. Not leavin' either." Dean raised his voice and glared at the doctor that had him furious. John got past the shock that was Sam's appearance and came forward too. He reached out a hand and smoothed back Sam's unruly hair. The doctor looked over the broken family before him and shook his head.

"I'll send Nate in a couple hours from now to check on him. I've done my job with the kid."

John glared at the retreating form of the surgeon he'd quickly learned to hate and the doctor visibly stiffened as if he could feel the daggers embedded in his back. The arrogant man left and John turned his attention back to Sam.

"That's right Sammy. We're not goin' anywhere until it's time to take you home." John' s hand lingered on Sam's head and Dean stood, quickly moving the other chair around to where John was, allowing his dad to sit on yet another hard plastic chair without releasing his hold on fragile looking Sam. "Thanks Dean." John smiled softly at his oldest and shifted eyes back to the lax face of his youngest. His own eyes clouded with tears. John and Dean sat in silence, each gently holding one of Sam's hands, careful not to disturb the multitude of lines and wires that were keeping their Sammy alive. An hour later, Dean had begun to doze, his upset winning out. John sighed, scrubbing a hand over his tired features while not letting go of Sam's with the other.

Silence fell over the room that housed the Winchesters save for the irregular beeps and whirring noises of the monitors and machinery. John leaned in over Sam and smoothed back his hair again, noticing that he was still so warm. He thought about everything that he'd said to his baby boy recently, so many wrong words. Tears leaked from his eyes and he lowered his forehead gently to his son's small, limp arm and sobbed silently.

Some time later the door to the room opened near silently and the nurse with the soft green eyes entered. She remained silent, looking over the hurting men in the room. The little one was fading, she knew, but the time wasn't right yet, no matter how bad she felt for him. She looked at him, so lost on the bed, and sent him a reassurance without moving. The off tempo rhythm beeping out into the silence of the room steadied just a bit. It was enough. A soft smile graced her pretty features and she turned from the room._ Just a little longer child. I know I can help you when the time becomes right. _

Sam's doctor came back in to find the two oldest Winchesters surrounding the youngest as if they could shield him from anything. The doctor touched John's shoulder and he snapped awake. Dean soon followed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you both. I need to examine Sam. There's fresh coffee in the lounge down the hall. Help yourselves." Doctor Jensen said softly.

"Thanks." John said gruffly, his voice still choked and sleepy sounding. He leaned down and kissed Sam on the forehead before straightening to look at the doc. He nodded towards the door. "You'll let us know how he is?"

"I'll tell you everything when I come for you."

Dean leaned in and ran a soft thumb over Sam's forehead. "You stay with us Sammy. We'll be back in just a few and then we're not leaving. You be here when we come back."

Dean went to where his dad stood, waiting at the door. He cast a glimpse at his brother before allowing his dad to throw an arm around his shoulder and lead him away. _I don't think I've ever seen him so broken._ John thought of his oldest._ Sammy, you hang in there kiddo. We need you so much._

The doctor stepped forward and picked up Sam's chart, reading notes from the surgeon and the nurse that had checked on him minutes after settling him into PICU. His readings had changed. The doctor glanced from Sam's chart to the monitors, unbelieving what he was seeing. He ran diagnostics on the monitors, one at a time, and all were working perfectly. He examined Sam and noticed a slight improvement in his temperature and color as well as a reduction in the level of infection. He wanted to believe it was the medicine and the doctors but part of him knew better. "You're stronger than anyone knows. Anyone except Grace." Nate Jensen said aloud to Sam as he gently brushed back the boy's hair. He put Sam's chart back on the hook at the foot of the bed and went to find a certain green eyed nurse.

He met up with her in the hall and stopped her. "Grace." He made it a soft spoken admonishment.

"Don't you look at me like that Nate. You know why I do what I do." She said smoothly, her soft accent coming through.

"Your sister did this to him didn't she?"

"Yes. And she's going to be more trouble, I sense it. I can help him and I'm going to do it. I just can't interfere until the time is right."

"You'll know?"

"I always know."

"You aren't risking yourself?"

"I'll risk whatever is necessary. It's why I'm here." She said, a serene look coming across her features. She touched his shoulder. "Please Nate; you're the only one who knows I can do this. Please don't take your support from me. I need to be there when the time is right. I need to stop my sister once and for all. Don't worry. I know I can do this."

"I'm always going to worry." Nate said as she turned away. He went to find the Winchesters.

Dean and John sat in the lounge for a few minutes both drinking strong black coffee and preparing to settle in with Sam for the long haul. John looked at Dean and took in the dark smudges beneath his eyes and the faint stubble that had shadowed his strong jaw. "Dean?"

"Yes sir?"

"You know he's gonna be okay."

"I can't believe anything else Dad."

"Neither can I."

Dean looked up as the door opened to reveal Doc Jensen. He stood; coffee still in hand and took in the doctor's troubled look. "Sammy?"

"Sammy?" John echoed. "Doc, what is it? Is my son okay?"

_I feel so awful for keeping the whole truth from them but I have to protect Grace._ The doc schooled his features and looked at the two men before him. "Sam's shown a slight improvement. His vitals are better and his fever is down a degree and a half. He's a fighter. However, Sam is far from being out of the woods yet. I'm being cautiously optimistic, very cautiously, that he'll recover enough to function normally. I'm going to warn you now though; his condition is still _very _unstable. He's still very much touch and go. If the shock advances or his toxin levels fluctuate he will suffer a set back and it can and probably will be extreme. So far he's holding his own against the infection and the antibiotics appear to be helping a small amount, but do not set yourselves up for a fall."

"Is there anything we can do?" Dean asked, blinking back the moisture that had gathered in his green eyes at the good news and the warning from the doctor.

"Sam rallied after you were with him. Just keep it up. I've always believed that love heals anything as much as medicine and sometimes more. Keep supporting him. You can go back in anytime." The doctor turned to leave the lounge to finish his rounds.

"Thanks." Dean said as he rushed from the room and back to where his brother lay. A smile graced his haggard features as he walked in and took his chair once again. He took Sam's hand again. "Doc says you've gotten a little stronger Sammy. I knew you could do it. You just keep fightin' okay?" John came back into the room to find Dean still talking to Sam a few minutes later.

"Dean, I need to go back to the house. That thing is still in the bedroom."

"So?" Dean snarled, lowering Sam's hand gently back to the bed. "You're telling me that you're leaving him _and_ me to make sure the landlord doesn't find a rotting monkey wannabe on the freakin' carpet? Y'know Sammy was right. It is becoming an obsession with you, Dad. Your son could still die and you're worried about some damn carcass!"

"Don't you take that tone with me young man! I'm protecting us! You know we do what we do and we shut up about it!"

"Yeah? And what does that get Sam and me, huh? Worried, sick, hurt, _and_an absentee Father who acts more like a drill Sergeant than our dad!" Dean struggled to keep his voice and the building rage in check. It was too much; all of this was too much. Suddenly the beep from Sam's heart monitor intruded on the tense silence that had fallen on the room as it changed tones. Dean looked at Sam, startled to see grayed out hazel orbs staring at him. Dean choked on his anger at his dad, relief and joy coming to his features.

"Sammy?" He reached for Sam's hand again as Sam choked slightly on the tube protruding from his mouth. "Shh, shhh, it's a vent. You're on a vent. It's helpin', don't fight it." Dean squeezed Sam's hand reassuringly and felt Sam's flutter in his. Sam was trying.

"Sam?" John leaned in as Sam's eyes shifted upon hearing his dad's voice. "Aw, hey kiddo. Just take it easy son." Sam's eyes flitted once more between Dean and John, worry shining in them as if he was trying to convey something without words. Guilt spiked through Dean as he picked up the meaning behind Sam's pleading look._ Damnit, he heard us arguing. Why the hell do we keep hurting him Dad? It's just stupid. _ Dean spoke, trying to soothe Sam as the silence and tension in the room agitated him further and his hand twitched again in Dean's. His monitor gave an odd beep.

"Oh Sammy. Hey, its okay, it's okay. We're okay. Dad and I were just… talkin'. Everything's alright. Right _Dad_?"

John glanced from Sam to Dean and back, unable to miss Sam's upset, or Dean's pointed too-wise-for-his-years stare. "Yeah, Sammy, we're okay. Listen, I have to go back to the house kiddo." John said, returning a look at Dean when he gave a near deadly glare. "You rest and get stronger Sammy. I'll be back before you know it." John leaned in and kissed his youngest on the forehead, Sam trying to lean into the touch. He stilled and blinked, his eyes sliding closed. The monitor's beep settled into a more relaxed, steady rhythm almost immediately. John stood back. "I'll be back soon. I promise Dean. We'll work this out." John said, reaching over the bed to run his hand through his oldest son's hair. Dean pulled away, still being careful not to disturb Sam or lose his contact.

"Whatever." Dean said, resuming his position of watching Sam sleep.

**A/N: Ha, told ya! No cliffie. I see that darn demon lurking though!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you guys for all the AWESOME reviews. I'm so glad to hear so many people commenting about different scenes that they've found they could really "see". It's been so gratifying that people point them out in reviews and say they really work.**

**Hope you enjoy the loopy ride that is chapter 5! **

**Chapter 5**

John left, looking back at his children only once. He walked to the Impala, which he had moved to the general parking area, and pulled out shortly after firing the rumbling engine. He pulled into the drive of the rented house faster than he thought he would, having been lost in thought for most of the trip across town. He eased out of the car, his fatigue quickly catching up with him, and went to the trunk. He opened it and pulled out his .45 along with a container of salt before shutting the trunk and going to the now cracked front door. It was shut but not locked and he chided himself for not taking even the second to flip the lock on the tarnished knob. He shook himself. _Damnit Winchester, that second could've been the one that Sammy died. When am I gonna learn that those boys come first? Oh Mary, what am I doin' to them?_ John shook himself again and entered the house, the sickly sweet copper tang of blood quickly reaching his nose and making him gag even as his eyes welled with tears. He caught sight of the beast and fury surged through him. He strode forward and caught the rotten smelling bundle of fur by the stiffened arm, pulling it just the foot or so into the center of the throw rug that had caught most of the spilled blood. He wrapped the ugly rug around the body of the beast and hefted the thing, not even caring anymore to look and see what it was. He was going to go out the back door and into the woods that bordered the back of the rented property. He grabbed the container of salt and started to pack the beast outside. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and the air in the house grew abruptly cold, his breath fogged in front of his lips. He dropped the rug draped beast to the floor and spun, pulling the .45 he had stashed in his waistband.

A shriek sounded out in the dim interior of the house as a gray skinned woman with stringy hair and equally gray eyes launched herself out of the corner of the room. She knocked John to the floor and clawed at him with her bony fingers. She spoke, a venomous Creole accent ringing from her, carried by a shrill voice tinged with anger and insanity. "You've killed my pet. I'll rip the heart from your chest and use it to summon him back to my side. You be my power and then the little one still be mine. He will still give me what I want. I take yours from you like you did to me!" John cried out as her long dirty nails ripped through his t-shirt and into his flesh. Fury raged through him at what this creature had done to Sam.

"Gah… I'm gonna kill you for hurting my boy!" John said as he fired the pistol point blank into the abdomen of the witch as she tried to get at him again. She screamed and slumped atop John. He could feel her blood seep into his shirt. The fog that had infiltrated the house once again receded as he rolled her still body off of his and stood, wincing at the pull of the scratches on his chest. He flung the rug off the body of the beast and hefted the skinny woman's body. He laid her on the rug, nearly draped over her ugly 'pet' as she had called it. "You want your pet, you got 'im bitch. Now you can burn with him." John rolled the ugly, blood soaked rug back over the two dead bodies and dragged it out the back door and into the woods. He dropped it into a depression in the ground and salted the bundle liberally. Returning quickly to the house he brought back a tin of lighter fluid and soaked the rug and the bodies wrapped inside. He pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and flicked it, letting the flame burn in the foggy night for a second before dropping it to contact the rug and go up with a "whoosh." Flames jumped into the night and John watched the bodies burn to ash, before he buried the fine dust where it lay. He went inside to shower and dress the scratches, not wanting to freak out the people at the hospital by coming in bloody and filthy again.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Dean found himself dozing, his forehead gently resting on Sam's arm, his hand still on Sam's. He shook himself awake and cast a glimpse around the still empty room as the irregular rhythm of the beeping monitor penetrated his haze. "I guess Dad's not back yet. I'm sorry I went to sleep Sammy. It's just been one hell of a night…. Sammy, I need you to know that I'm sorry. I've been rough on you with the whole liking school thing, the books and the…" Dean trailed off and changed his train of thought before he said something to hurt his brother again. _Damn, I've spent too much time listening to freakin' dad about the hunt. I'm getting as obsessed as he is. I want you to have normal Sammy. I'm gonna see that you get to go to school. That you get to play soccer if that's what you wanna do. I'll see that you get to do anything you want, just please, please come back to me Sammy. _"Just come back to me Sammy."

The green eyed nurse that had been so nice to him walked into the room and touched Dean's shoulder as she came around Sam's bed to look at the boy lost in the machinery. "How is he doing, child?"

"He's still out of it. Is he really stronger than he was? I know he woke up a little bit ago but he seems so weak now…" Dean trailed off again, waving a hand in the direction of the staccato beep.

"Well, let's see…" The nurse looked at Sam's chart at the foot of the bed and then at Sam. "His vitals are stronger than they were when he first came to us."

"But they're not stronger than they were when the doc looked at him are they?"

"No they're not. I'm sorry." Dean's eyes dropped to Sam's hand, lying motionless on top of the thin coverlet. He put his hand on his brother's again. The nurse moved off, shaking her head sadly.

"What's your name?" Dean asked, not looking up from Sam's hand covered by his. Dean hunched further into his hoodie.

"Grace." The nurse said.

"Grace," Dean repeated, "Thanks for being honest with me about my brother."

Grace left the room, stopping at the door to look at the dying boy lost in the sea of beeping, whirring machinery. She reached out to soothe him again as she leaned against the door frame. _Just stay strong little one. It won't be long now and then I can help you._ She sent another wave of reassurance to the youngest Winchester and sent strength with it. The rhythm of the machine fluttered slightly and became more regular, measured. The beep became steady again as Dean continued to talk quietly to his baby brother. _That's it little one._ Grace gasped suddenly, leaning heavily against the door frame as she felt a shift in something around her. She stilled and looked back into the room at the young victim of something awful that should never have touched him. _She can't hurt you anymore little one. I can help you soon._ Grace went to find Nate and let him know that they'd have no more victims in the swamp.

"I like her Sammy." Dean said after the nurse was gone. "You will too. There's something about her that seems… I dunno….soothing maybe? She reminds me of mom, how she'd get the look on her face when I got hurt. That look that would heal anything. I wish so much that you'd gotten to see how she looked at you. That softness in her green eyes. It was the same for both of us. You'd look up at her and you'd never cry. I fell off the swings in the park one time when I was with dad and she was with you. I didn't stop cryin' until I saw that look. I forgot all about my skinned knees and the pain just went away." Dean wiped at the moisture that gathered in his green eyes with thoughts of his mom. "Anyhow, I don't want you to be mad at us Sammy. That look that mom used to give me is why we hunt. I can't forget it and I can't forget that you'll never get to see it. I'm sorry we're so hard on you Sammy. Get better so we can fix things. Please."

Sam's monitor changed tones again, beeping rapidly. He arched in the bed; his hand under Dean's going rigid on top of the cover. He made a choking sound around the vent tube and the monitor shrilled. "Sammy!" Sam drew three rapid, gasping breaths and went lax on the bed. The monitor went from a screech to a monotone blare. "SAMMY!" Dean screamed. He raced to the door of the room and blasted through the doors to see people already running his way. "HELP! I NEED HELP IN HERE!"

The nurses ran into the room and pulled Sam's pillow out from under his head, quickly laying the bed fully flat. One of them turned off the shrill tone coming from the monitor while another disconnected the tube down his throat from the machine and hooked a bag to it, rapidly squeezing air into Sam's lungs. Dean barreled back into the room and the nurse caught him. "You have to leave. Let us help him."

"Sammy. No Sammy, you fight! You fight!" Dean cried, trying to push past the nurse to get to his brother.

John showered and returned to the hospital, wanting badly to see his boys. He turned down the corridor to hear a scream and an alarm sound simultaneously. He recognized the scream instantly. Dean. John broke into a sprint when he saw doctor Jensen run into Sam's room and Dean be pushed out by a nurse shortly after. The door to the room closed in Dean's face.

"Dean!" John said as he raced to his son's side. "What happened?! Sammy!"

Tears streamed down Dean's face and he turned to his father. "He's dyin." Dean said brokenly. John caught him in his arms and pulled him tight to his chest. "I was talking to him and he had trouble breathin'. I yelled when the machine started screechin'. They wouldn't let me in. Dad, Sammy's alone. He didn't wanna be alone!" Dean turned into his father's chest and sobbed. John held Dean tight and watched the doctors work furiously behind the small window in the closed door. _ Mary, please. Don't let our little boy leave us. Don't let him be taken too. Oh Sammy, fight kiddo. Fight._ John buried his face in his oldest son's spiky golden brown hair, fighting to keep from crumbling. His sons needed him.

"Charge to 300 again." _ Come on Sam. You were getting stronger. _

"Charged."

"Clear." Hands came up and Nate Jensen applied the ready paddles to Sam's chest. The shock went through and his small body arched off the bed._Come on. Come on. That brother of yours is broken. Do you want that Sam? Oh Grace, where are you?_

"AGAIN, at 350 this time!" A shock, a beep, a monotone signal.

"Nothing."

"How long?"

"Nine minutes." A nurse replied quietly. Jensen lowered the paddles and his head, despair making him shake. "I'll call it." He looked at his watch. "Time of Death 6:14 a.m." A young nurse gave a choked sound and went to open the room door. The doctor walked through. He met John's eyes over Dean's head. His own brown ones welled with tears that mirrored John's.

"Sammy." John whispered. Dean whipped out of John's arms and faced the doctor.

"No." Dean whispered. "NO!" He barreled through the door to Sam's room and stopped short. Sam lay silent on the bed, the machinery now quiet. The ventilator had been turned off, no whoosh click sounding out in the room, no steady beeps. The tube was still in Sam's throat but hooked to nothing. John came into the room and held Dean back from Sam. The doc followed.

"Doctor, please take that tube out of my son." John said, his voice sounding hollow.

Jensen stepped forward and tipped back Sam's head. Holding him by the chin the doctor gently pulled on the tube. It came out of Sam with a wet sound that caused John to sob.

"LET ME GO TO HIM!" Dean cried, forcing himself out of John's arms. John let him go. Dean ran to the bed and climbed on it with the body of his little brother. He pulled Sam up into his arms. Holding him tight, Dean sobbed into his Sammy's soft, unruly hair. The doctor went to the door and moved outside, his hand coming to rest on the door frame as he put his forehead on it and allowed a single tear to fall.

Grace came up to his side and touched his shoulder quietly. "He's gone." She made it a statement. She had felt it.

Nate nodded. "Can you…?"

Grace looked at him and walked to stand in the door way silently. She saw John Winchester standing a couple feet from his broken family. His shoulders slumped and she watched as he turned his head to the side, his profile revealing the tear coursing down his scarred cheek. Her eyes shifted to the bed and the two figures huddled there. Dean held his little brother tight, one hand buried in his brown waves at the back of his neck, the other wrapped around his back and holding him fast as if he couldn't bear to let him go.

"Shhh, shhh. Sammy, I'm here….I'm….here. You're not….alone." Dean sobbed through the words. "You're… not…alone."

Grace watched the scene before her with soft green eyes. She felt the air change around her and saw the small wavering light form off to Dean's left. She knew he didn't see it. Only she could. She reached for the formless presence and it faded, reappearing at her side, unnoticed by all in the room except her. She looked down and reached a hand out. Her soft fingers brushed the light and she drew a small, intricate design in the brightened air beside her. Going inside herself she saw the presence of the little boy that she'd picked to save. She'd never seen his hazel eyes, that innocence still beaming as he looked from her to his brother, his body, and back to her. There wasn't fear in those hazel depths. There was a begging there, a plea for help in understanding. She'd never heard his voice, didn't know that it rang out strong or whisper soft when he chose. She heard now.

"_Why is my brother crying like that? Is something wrong with me? Why can I see him and me?"_

"_You've lost your fight. The moment was too much for you."_

"_I don' really wanna leave Dean. Why doesn't daddy say anything? Why doesn't he hold me too?"_

"_He feels he has a lesson to learn. You know me right?" _Grace asked the light beside her wordlessly.

"_Dean said I'd like you. That you were soothing and you smiled like mom. He's right, I do like you. Can you help me? Can I see my mom? I'm dead right? She's dead too. I've never seen her smile but yours is pretty."_

"_Do you want to see your mom?"_

"_I want to but I don't wanna leave Dean. I don't like it when I hurt him."_

"_Do you feel like you hurt him?"_

"_Why else would he be cryin'?"_

"_He loves you. You're lost to him."_

"_I don't wanna lose him. What lesson does dad need to learn?"_

"_How to let you go. It's not easy for him. It never will be."_

"_I don't hate him. He thinks I do. Dean thinks the same way. I heard him talking to me. Can you help me go back? I don't wanna leave if they think I hate them."_

"_You can go back. It's not your time. Your family had a hard lesson to learn. I think they have."_ Grace reached her soft hand into the light and felt a caress against it. She curled her hand into the feeling and walked forward. She went to the bed and reached out to touch the unruly hair that rested atop Sam's head. She reached for Dean's soft spiky hair and caressed it next. He looked up at her with tears running in rivers down his face. She smiled and he felt a peace settle into him with that smile. That look was just like the one his mother used to give him.

"You do that just… like she used to." Dean whispered. John came forward and watched the nurse interact with his heartbroken son. He saw what Dean was talking about. The nurse had the same look on her face that Mary would get when she looked at one of her guys. The look that healed anything. Dean buried his head again in his little brother's hair, quiet now. Nate came into the room to stand just inside the door. Grace touched the mop of brown hair and felt the air change again. Her job was done. She left, walking past Nate as he looked at her. She smiled wanly at him and he raised a hand to the new streak of gray that laced her hair.

"Go. It's your turn to work a miracle." She whispered and left the room.

**A/N: Again, if anything sounded off about the medical things, it's because I've never died! Please though, feel free to point anything way out there out to me. Let me know what you think. The last chapter will be up tomorrow evening. Thanks for reading! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: You have all been so great, sticking by me through this story. THANK YOU ALL. Enjoy this final chapter and let me know what you think. I'll be posing a question at the end of this. Hope you'll all give me an answer. Enjoy chapter six!  
**

**Chapter 6**

Nate walked to the bed. John finally moved forward and put a hand on both of his boys' heads. Tears flowed now, even from the ex marine. Dean stiffened under his touch, lifting his head while at the same time holding Sam tighter. Sam's head fell into the crook of Dean's neck as he raised his eyes to his dad. He looked about to speak when he stopped abruptly. "What the…"

"What, Dean?"

"Wait." Dean held Sam tight and closed his eyes. "Sammy." He whispered. _ Sammysammysammy…_ Dean felt it again, a movement against his chest, a flutter at his neck. "Oh God, Sammy." It came again, this time stronger. Dean lifted Sam's head and looked at his brother in time to see dusky eye lashes flutter a miniscule amount. "He's alive." Dean whispered. "Sammy's alive." Dean turned pleading eyes to the doc. "He's alive. Help him, help him!" Dean held Sam out to the doctor who stepped up and quickly took him, laying him back on the bed when Dean moved aside. Nate put a stethoscope to his ears, a litany beginning to form in his mind. He heard a hesitant beat that he had to close his eyes and strain to hear. _Grace, you did it. Grace, thank you._

"Step back." Nate said, quickly reaching for the defibrillator that had been left near the bed after the first effort to save Sam had failed. He turned it on and charged it to fifty. He shocked Sam and prayed it was enough. He put the stethoscope to Sam's chest again. _Beat, beat, beat._ "Dean's right. Sam's alive." Doctor Jensen turned the monitor back on and looked over their startled faces as it began beeping regularly. _ Beep, beep, beep._ "Come on Sam. Breathe kiddo." Jensen rubbed his knuckles over Sam's sternum briskly, carefully avoiding the abdominal injuries. Sam gasped as his body responded to the deep pain stimulus. _Thank you Grace._ Jensen put a mask over Sam's face quickly and adjusted the oxygen to flow easily. Sam's breath fogged the mask. Dean sobbed with a smile on his face. "I need you to wait outside for just a bit. I really need to look him over." Nate said to the dumbstruck Winchesters. John pulled Dean into his arms and they went to the hall.

"He's alive, Dad, he's really alive. You heard the machine."

"I heard son. I heard." John said as he pulled Dean into his arms and looked at the ceiling, not seeing it but seeing something else. That miracle smile he hadn't seen for so many years._ Oh, Mary. Thank you. Thank you. _ Jensen came to the door and frantically motioned for the young nurse that was at the station. She had been standing silently, eyes flooding with tears that she couldn't fight back. She wiped her eyes and ran into the room.

"Oh my God!" She cried out joyfully. Running back to the station, she quickly paged someone and ran back into the room. Moments later another nurse rounded the bend in the corridor at a lope and ran into the room.

"Let's take him for some tests to make sure there's no damage from deprivation and get him settled." Doc Jensen ordered the tests for Sam and signed his chart handing it to the nurse. "Oh and strike time of death from this please. I'm going to give his family the news."

Sam was wheeled from the room for the tests that the doctor had ordered and the man walked up to the near silent Winchesters, a genuine smile on his face. Dean was the first to speak.

"You called it. For so long I held him and there was nothing. Nothing. What happened doc?"

_Grace happened. _"I really don't know. There must have been enough electrical activity left in his brain to keep his heart beating just beneath the level that the monitor could detect. I had to shock him to get a rhythm that I could hear without straining. There are things that happen every day that medicine can't explain. I fully believe in miracles and I'd say you got one. We're running some tests on him and if everything comes back okay we'll settle him in a private room and you'll be able to see him. He should be settled after breakfast. There's some food in the lounge, help yourselves. I'll find you with the results."

"Thanks." John said. He headed to the lounge with Dean in tow. Dean sat down wearily and John handed his oldest a cup of black coffee. Dean sipped it and put his elbows up on the table, running a hand through his hair and wiping at his tired eyes that didn't want to stop watering.

"Is he really gonna be okay Dad?" Dean asked. "I mean, I'm not dreaming…am I?"

"If you are then we both are." John said, sipping his own coffee as he pulled a donut from the box in front of him and handed it to Dean. He pulled one of his own and bit into it, making sure Dean ate something too. They relaxed for the first time in hours, both breathing sighs of relief. They ate in silence and lounged about, both dozing, until a presence in the room woke Dean. Doc Jensen and that nurse walked into the room.

Dean opened bleary, sore eyes and was greeted by a green eyed, soft smile as Grace bent and brushed a hand over his hair. "Hi Grace." Dean smiled and his eyes shifted to meet the doc's kind brown gaze. "How's Sammy?" John woke to the sound of Dean's voice.

"How is my son?" John echoed.

"He's holding his own. The antibiotics are working and so are all of his organs. We're leaving the Foley in until he can walk to go to the bathroom. He's still unconscious but it's to be expected. He's been through a lot. He's young and strong. There is no sign of brain damage or other permanent effects from either the Sepsis or his near death. He should wake up in the next day or so at least briefly. I can arrange for cots if you wish to stay. He's in a fairly big room and we shouldn't have any trouble working around you both if he should need anything. It won't be the most comfortable…"

John cut him off. "We're not leaving our Sammy." The doc nodded.

"Grace here would like to speak with you, if that's okay? Then she'll show you to Sam's room."

"Sure." John said, smiling in genuine relief at the nurse. John waited until the nurse joined them in one of the comfortable upholstered chairs. She reached up to toy with a lock of her gray streaked hair that had come loose from the bun she wore it in. She looked from John to Dean and smiled when he leaned forward.

"How do you do that?" He asked.

"Do what?"

"Smile like my mom. She died when I was four and all this time I've never seen anyone with her smile." Dean blinked back tears and smiled again. "It's beautiful."

"I want to share something with you. Both of you."

"Okay." John said, unsure of what to make of her hushed voice.

"I know you're hunters. I also know that Sam wasn't mauled by a stray dog. I've lived here all my life. I know what roamed that swamp. I also know you killed it _and_ her."

"What?"

"The witch and her familiar. I know- knew-them. Before she lost her humanity to the power, she was my sister. I know you killed her John. I felt it."

"I…"

Grace cut him off. "Don't apologize. It was her choice. I wasn't strong enough to stop her. I was strong enough to keep her from getting what she wanted until you killed her."

"What did you keep her from getting?" Dean asked.

"Your brother. It wasn't until after I sensed the power she got from him that I knew I could help him."

"What are you talking about?" John cut in.

"I'm Wicca; a good witch that uses forces around her to help others. I also have the gift of healing. I knew I could help Sam when I felt his presence calling out to me after he stopped breathing. He was confused and he didn't want to leave you, Dean. I helped him stay. I gave him power to hold on. He's strong. I got through his healing better than I usually do with people with a lot lesser injuries because of his strength. This," she twirled the lock of gray about her finger and showed them, "is what I got from healing him. He is strong. Give him time and understanding and he'll be fine."

"Why should we believe you are what you say?" John said, his eyes narrowing at her.

"I've never seen Sam's eyes. They're hazel, beautiful hazel with gold flecks. His voice has the innocence of a child and the boom of a man in the softest tone. He has dimples when he smiles."

John was quiet, still not fully believing her even though everything she said rang true, but willing to wait for her to finish talking as she looked at Dean again. "He told me that you said he'd like me. That I was soothing."

"Okay, that's enough!" John rumbled.

"No Dad. She's right. After she left that one time that's exactly what I said to Sammy." Dean said softly. "I whispered it. There's no way she could've heard over the machinery in Sam's room."

"I want to tell you," Grace continued, "Sam is so strong, his presence. He'll remember talking with me. He'll remember seeing Dean crying and seeing his own body, but he'll think it is a dream. He had been touched by both evil and good in a very short time. He will need help in sorting it all out. Be there for him. He wants nothing more than to have his family around and understanding with no arguments and no orders. He needs this and only you can give it to him. I hope you will." She stood. "Now shall I take you to see your strong little boy?"

"Please, Grace?" She nodded and smiled at Dean again. _ Mom's smile,_ Dean thought. She left the room and started to lead them down the hall to the elevator. They rounded the corner and came face to face with the surgeon that was so cruel concerning Sam. The man paled and stepped back quickly before composing himself and returning to that haughty attitude that angered John.

"I hear the kid made it through the night. Barely." The man said.

"You have no idea how strong my son is." John growled, his teeth clicking together in a snarl.

"You should thank me for operating on him and saving him. After all I…" John had the man pinned to the wall again before he finished the boastful sentence.

"How 'bout you thank me for not breaking your nose right now? You really don't need it to be any more hooked than it is. My son has more strength and compassion in his little finger than you'll _ever_ have. He made it through because of all the people who saw that and did everything they could _and more_ to help him. _You_ wouldn't know compassion if it bit you on the ASS!"

Grace's hand was at her throat in shock of what she was seeing. She stifled a laugh as the arrogant surgeon was finally put in his place. Dean crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, looking at Grace before glancing back at his dad, his heart swelling with pride in his Father's words. The earlier wounds of words and raw emotions healed over just a bit.

John shook Garbee again, sending the man's shoulder blade into the tiled wall. "I suggest you pull your nose out of the clouds. You just might drown the next time it rains. If you can't do that on your own I'll be happy to help by PUTTING YOUR HEAD UP YOUR ASS!" He let the doctor drop back to his black leather shoe clad feet. His soles made a clicking sound against the waxed tile floor. The man was sweating and red in the face. He shied away and skirted past Dean. Dean jumped into action just behind the flighty doctor. He ran forward silently, stopping just behind the man.

"BOO!" Dean menaced, stomping his boot clad foot on the shiny floor. The doctor jumped and took off down the hall at a sprint, barreling through the door to his office. Grace, Dean and John heard the lock turn with a sharp click. John roared with laughter, Dean quickly joining him, real relief in the tone of his voice.

"I never thought I'd see the day when someone had the courage to stand up to that ass." Grace laughed. "It's a good thing to see." She went to the elevator and punched the button, stepping inside when the doors slid open. They followed and she closed the doors, pushing the three.

They went to the third floor where Sam was settled in a large private room. He had an oxygen cannula up his nose and was now clad in a light blue fabric hospital gown. The machinery was gone except for the Foley, heart monitor, IVs delivering antibiotics and nutrients to him and the oxygen setup. He was seeping peacefully. Two cots lined the wall opposite the bed and a table sat near the bed with a pitcher of water and a small teddy bear wearing a Superman costume. Dean picked up the bear and smiled down at it, thinking how fitting it was for his strong Sammy.

"Laura gave that to him. She is Sam's regular nurse. The young woman that cried when she thought we'd lost him. I'll leave you to be with Sam." Grace started to walk out of the room.

"Grace?" Dean called, tucking the Superman teddy bear into the crook of Sam's arm. She stopped and turned back. "Thanks. For everything." She smiled and walked away.

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Dean whiled away the hours following by flipping through channels on the TV, keeping the volume low. John slept on his cot for several of those long hours while waiting for Sam to wake. Dean tried but couldn't make sleep come._Not till I know he's okay._ At seven that evening, twenty four hours after everything started, Dean was nearly asleep when he heard a small sound coming from the bed. He jumped up from his cot, the noise of the rustling mattress bringing John instantly alert. Dean ran to the bed and his green eyes met Sam's hazel ones. Sam was holding the bear in his hand and looked back down, smiling at the white furry bear wearing the red and blue costume.

"Sammy!" Dean cried happily, reaching for Sam's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Sam squeezed weakly in return, a small smile touching his lips.

"De…" Sam tried to talk.

"Shhh, you been through a lot kiddo. Don't talk okay?"

Sam nodded and rolled his head to catch his dad's smiling face and tear filled eyes. "Hey buddy. How you feelin' kiddo?"

Sam nodded and swallowed hard. John looked at Dean. "I'll see if I can find the doc and score him some ice chips." John left the room.

Dean held Sam's hand and looked at his little brother. "You know you scared me Sammy." Dean said quietly, his green eyes welling with tears.

"'m sorry." He managed to whisper.

"Don't be. Don't you ever be sorry. I needed to be scared. So did dad. We were asses and needed the lesson learned. It wasn't easy. God, coming so close to losin' you for the little bit that I did almost killed me. I'm the one who's sorry. Anything you wanna do kiddo. Anything you wanna do, I'll see you get to do it."

"He's right Sammy. Anything." John said as he came back into the room with a cup full of ice chips and a spoon. "Here kiddo." John spooned a small bit of crushed ice into Sam's mouth. Sam let the ice dissolve.

"Thanks Dad." Sam said; his voice stronger now that the dryness was gone from his throat. "Can we go to Pastor Jim's?" he asked.

"When you get better, that's the first place we'll go. I'd enjoy a vacation in Minnesota." John said, reaching out to brush unruly locks back from Sam's forehead. Sam leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. He fell asleep with his Dad's hand lingering in his hair, Dean's hand on his, and Super Teddy tucked in at his side.

Grace walked by the door and looked in the window. She smiled and walked away. Rounding the corner she felt a presence in the hall. She stilled and focused on bringing the image to her. A woman with long blond hair appeared to her. The woman had green eyes and wore a long white gown. She smiled at Grace. Grace returned the same smile, nearly identical. "Now I see what he meant about that smile." She said softly.

"Thank you for saving my Sammy." Mary said as she faded away.

**A/N: Okay here's that question. I've never written Pastor Jim in a fic and want to try out his character. I was wondering if you'd all want to read an epilogue that goes along with this fic? Just one more chapter and my take on the character we've only seen for his death. If not, this is a fitting ending for a story that I've thoroughly enjoyed writing. Peanut, I hope you haven't been disappointed?**


	7. Epilogue

**A/N: Here's what almost all of you great people asked for. The epilogue and a small peak at my take on Pastor Jim's character. Hope you enjoy the final bit of this fic. Thanks again for all the phenomenal reviews, pushing another of my stories over the 100 mark. You people rock! Enjoy!  
**

**Epilogue: Four weeks later.**

Dean looked up in time to see a sign flash by along the road as the rumbling engine of the Impala comforted him with a feeling of home. He still was troubled by nightmares of losing Sam. Four weeks after the beast had hurt him, Three weeks, five days and eleven hours after Sam had died, only to be healed by Grace, Dean still woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, feeling his brother's rapidly cooling body in his arms. More often than not for the first week Dean remained awake for the rest of the night watching his brother sleep in the hospital bed. After that John had insisted that Dean go home at night to sleep. The nightmares had gotten worse for Dean then until John relented and let him stay with Sam for the entire day, dropping him off as soon as visiting hours started, staying for an hour or so with his youngest before heading out by himself on a local hunt or an odd job to get some money for the promised trip to Blue Earth, Minnesota and Pastor Jim's house. They were almost there now. The sign "Welcome to Blue Earth" was a calming sight for Dean.

He turned around in the seat to look at his brother. Sam had slept for most of the trip from Louisiana, waking only for meals and the frequent pit stops that John made on the trip. Sam was stretched out on the seat, the Superman Teddy bear tucked under his arm and Dean's jacket over his sweat clad legs. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up over his head and shadowed the young face that Dean knew still sported a look of fatigue and pain if he moved wrong or too fast. Sam was sleeping, one arm wrapped loosely over his abdomen. Dean knew he still had pain. He probably should have stayed in the hospital, but he was beginning to climb the walls. Dean reached back and touched Sam, relishing the warmth of his baby brother's face as he brushed the hoodie and his hair back. Sam stirred and opened his hazel eyes, looking at his big brother.

"Blue Earth, Sammy."

"Pastor Jim's?" Sam asked quietly.

"'Bout twenty minutes kiddo. How you feelin'?"

"Tired. A little sore. But I'm okay, I guess."

"Alright, Sammy. We'll get to Jim's and get settled in. You can sleep there." John said, looking at his son's dark shadowed eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I wanna spend some time with Pastor Jim, Dad." Sam said quietly.

John smiled. "You will kiddo. We're not gonna leave for a couple weeks." John said as he negotiated the turn onto the gravel drive that led to Jim's parsonage.

Jim heard the rumble of an engine that even after a year he still easily recognized. He stood and went to his front door. A familiar big black car was pulling to a stop just to the left of the front porch in the parking area next to Jim's own pickup. Dean waved through the windshield as they stopped, a smile lighting his face. Jim walked out onto the porch, pulling his casual flannel tighter about his frame, his longish dark brown hair, touched with a hint of gray at the temples, fluttered in the October Minnesota wind. John killed the engine and opened his door with its ever-present squeak as Jim stepped down off the porch and walked up to him, catching his forearm in a hunter's handshake. "John, what are you guys doing in this neck of the woods. You know it's been over a year?"

"Yeah, Jim. I know. Listen, I know I didn't call and I'm sorry if it's a little abrupt but you mind if we stay here for a couple weeks?" John asked, casting his eyes at the ground.

Something about John's gestures and quiet tone scared Jim. "John, what's goin' on?" Dean had gotten out of the car and opened the rear passenger door. He reached in and helped Sam sit up as John pulled Jim aside. Jim looked at the boys, Dean's tired features and Sam's slow movements clueing him in that something bad had happened even as John spoke quietly.

"Jim, a month ago, we went on a hunt in the Bayou. I made Sammy go, thought it would be good for him. He got jumped by the beast we were hunting. Turned out it was a witch's familiar and she turned it on him again while Dean and I were out lookin' for it. It nearly killed him then and there. We got him to a hospital but infection had set in. Jim… Sammy died. A healer that was working at the hospital saved my son. She was the witch's sister. She said she was Wicca. Jim…" John's voice broke and his hands shook.

"Okay. Let's get the boys settled. They look like they've been through hell. Then you and I can talk."

John ran a hand over his tired eyes and smiled wanly at Jim. "Thanks." They turned towards the car to see Dean helping Sam stand. Sam had a grimace on his face and an arm wrapped loosely around his middle. Jim started at how bad Sam looked. He'd lost weight and had dark smudges under his eyes. He leaned heavily on Dean. Jim walked quickly to Sam and crouched down, getting a little lower than eye level with the boy he thought of as a son. Images of the first time he'd met Sammy Winchester flitted through his mind. Four year old Dean had stood huddled next to his father's side on Jim's doorstep. Sam had been in his dad's arms, staring sleepily at the man who'd come to the door at the knock. Now Jim looked at that baby, forced to grow up before his time. He had that same tired, staring look on his face as he met Jim's eyes. His eyes shifted to Dean, looking like he was eighty instead of eighteen._ Oh Lord, these boys have been through too much._

"Sam, Dean, go on inside. Your bedroom is always ready for you both."

"Thanks Jim." The boys said in unison with subdued voices. Dean got a tighter hold on his sagging brother and walked him slowly inside. Jim walked back up to John who had moved to the trunk of the Impala. John was loading down his arms with bags. Jim took half, stopping to meet John's brown eyes.

"John, Sammy asked to come here, didn't he?"

"Yeah." John said, crestfallen.

"Let's go inside. I have coffee." Jim held his half of the bags and led John into the house.

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Dean helped Sam sit down on his bed. Sam managed to hold back a cry, what little escaped sounded like a sob. "Okay Sammy. You're hurtin', that's obvious. What isn't, is why you're hurtin. Let me see." Dean lifted Sam's feet gently and helped him lay flat on his back in the bed. Sam was silent as Dean lifted his shirt to look at the wounds that had been so bad so few weeks ago. They were mostly healed, leaving eight long red scars that had tightened the growing muscles of Sam's abdomen by forming scar tissue. There was bruising around each of the healed gashes and small scabs where the stitches had been removed three days ago.

"It's okay Dean. It just pulls when I move. It'll get better."

"Yeah, okay. Get some sleep, Sammy." Dean pulled of Sam's shoes and covered him up with the blanket that lay folded at the bottom of the twin bed.

"Okay." Sam pushed deeper into the pillow and closed his eyes, soon sound asleep. Dean sat and watched his brother sleep, thankful that the stillness he saw in Sam for those weeks was beginning to turn back into his normal nonstop movement. He felt his head drop to his chest where he sat and he snapped awake. Moving to the other bed Dean flopped out on top of the covers and, facing his baby brother so he could see him, fell fast into the first dreamless sleep he'd had in four weeks.

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"John, what happened?" Jim said as he put a cup of black coffee in front of John where he sat at the wooden kitchen table. Jim picked up another cup and moved to sit opposite.

"We fought. Sam wanted to stay home to study for a test at school and I called him on it. I ordered him to go on the hunt. We got into the Bayou and the thing, I don't even know what it was, attacked us. It caught us all, Jim. Anyhow, Sammy got the worst and it fell into a bog with him. Dean reached in and found him under the water… Jim, he almost drowned. My little boy almost drowned in swamp water." John sipped the coffee in front of him and continued, scrubbing a hand over his haggard features. "He didn't tell us that he was hurt, that the thing had clawed him. He was tired of us telling him he'd screwed up again."

"You tell Samuel that?" Jim asked in a neutral tone, un-accusing.

"Yeah. I did, Dean did. We did it too much. Hell, Jim, once is too much. Sammy never screwed up a hunt. He took to the lessons and the hunts just like his school work except he doesn't want to do this forever. Jim I don't want him to. Or Dean. I want my boys to be safe, happy. I just …. I don't know how to give them that anymore. I have to find the thing that killed Mary. I can't stop."

"John, this is the first time I've heard you talk to me like this. What went on after Samuel fell into the water?"

"We pulled him out and as usual I let him have it for letting that thing get the drop on him. The boy only had a knife to begin with. I wouldn't let him have a rifle. Dean reamed me out and said he was takin' Sam home if I made them go to the car, which was what I was going to do. Dean…" John smiled a little. "You know he's ripped me a new ass on more than on occasion recently. Anyway we went back to the house we were renting and cleaned up. Sammy kept the fact that he was hurt from us because we were asses. I wanted nothing more than to go back out and finish the hunt. We salted everything and Dean went with me. Sammy woke up a couple hours later sick. Infection. To make a long story short the beast and the witch broke into the house and nearly gutted my boy. Dean killed the thing and we got Sammy to a hospital. Sepsis set in and he was dying. Hell, he did die Jim. Dean and I…. we lost him." John choked off and wiped tears fro his tired eyes, memories making them hazy. "There was a woman there, a nurse. Her name is Grace. She is Wicca and a healer. She saved my boy while I was back at the house getting rid of the bodies of the thing and the witch. I left because I had to finish the hunt, always finish the hunt, and Sammy got worse. I came back in time to hear Dean screaming for help. Sammy died. My little boy was gone and Dean was so…broken. Grace gave him back to us. I swear Jim, I deserved to lose him. I did."

"No one _deserves _to lose a child John. It happens, and it may be God's will regardless of how awful it seems, but everything happens for a reason. There was a lesson you needed to learn here. Have you?"

"Oh yeah. I learned I need to be a father instead of a Drill Sergeant. I'm going to go see my boys. I need to be with my boys." John picked up his remaining coffee and headed down the hall to the small room the boys shared. Seeing them sleeping, he quietly moved into the room and watched them for a minute. He moved forward and removed Dean's boots, pulling the blanket carefully out from under his legs. He covered Dean as best he could and ran a hand gently over his golden brown spikes.

Moving to the other bed John tucked Sam in and leaned into brush his little boy's hair out of his dark smudged, closed eyes. _My strong little boy. I owe you so much. I'm so sorry._ John let a tear trickle down his cheek and turned from the room, going into the small room he used. He shut the door and for the first time in fourteen years cried himself to sleep over something other than the loss of his wife.

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Early the next morning found Pastor Jim Murphy at the chapel. The sun streamed brightly through the stained glass windows and added to the sense of peace that pervaded the room. He sat in the front pew, thinking over what John had said. He'd watched John last night with the boys, listened to him cry behind closed doors and longed to patch up the family he'd come to care for. He was asking for help doing that when the door opened softly and a head of wavy brown hair peeked around silently. Jim saw the shadow on the floor and smiled. He knew Sam would wait for his invitation.

"Samuel." The stern sounding name came out a happy tone as Jim called to the boy he loved like a son. Sam had won his heart completely as a three year old boy, curious about everything, when he'd climbed up into Jim's lap and asked "Who's God?"

The boy, who at fourteen was so reminiscent to Jim of that tiny child, came forward and sat silently beside Jim in the pew, just barely touching shoulders with the older man.

"Sam." Jim said, turning to look at the boy who had so many emotions flickering over his features he looked like a slide show on rapid play.

"I'm not okay Pastor Jim." Sam said, wise beyond his few years.

"I know you're not." Jim responded.

"I remember dying. Dean and dad didn't tell me, but I remember. I saw Grace. I'd never met her but I saw her and Dean was right when he told me I'd like her. I hurt him." Sam said in a rush.

"Who?" Knowing who he meant but needing to hear him say it. Sam needed to say it.

"Dean. I saw him holding me tight. I couldn't feel it but I saw. He died with me. That's the only way I can say how he looked to me. I hurt him and he still hurts and I can't make him better like he does me. I want to but I don't know how. Jim, I hear him at night. He watches me sleep and he tells me that…"

"I'm never gonna lose you like that again." Dean finished for Sam as he walked into the chapel and came up to their side. They both had jumped at the sound of his voice and Sam fell silent, his eyes shifting to stare at the burgundy carpet. "It's the truth Sammy. No matter what, I'm not losin' you again. Not like that. Not ever. It's just not an option."

"Dean, everyone dies." Sam said quietly.

"Sam, I know that. What I meant was I'm never letting you die alone like that. I'll never let you alone." Dean moved forward and crouched down, pulling his baby brother into his arms for a fierce bit gentle hug. "You'll never be alone." Sam returned the hug and Pastor Jim watched on. Dean slid onto the pew touching shoulders with his little brother and the three of them watched the sun shine through the stained glass windows, the color and light seeping into their souls to begin the healing that they needed.

**A/N: Hope you all liked it and will remember to hit that little button. I'm working more slowly on the sequel to Escaping Fate that was promised next, but it is coming along. I've also accepted another challenge and have a start on it. You'll see me again soon. Thanks again for reading.**


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